Somehow had never visited the Green Mountain State, but spent the past week there giving lectures and touring around. Oh my how beautiful! Re this poem that emerged from a sojourn alongside Morey Lake (pictured).
Low hills mirrored in water like glass.
A cloud sliver paces its twin.
Swallows swerve for bugs, their paired reflections swimming,
brush strokes that tatter the otherwise limpid calm.
Loon song evinces a quaver in the curtain
chorus of those I mourn.
A yodeled incantation:
It is this way today while you are here
and will be when like us you are gone.
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